Listen
“Caught in a web
of words, I flutter and flounder and weave myself into a fist.
‘Breathe,’ I insist,
‘and pause
Because the peace
you seek is not in speech.’
I breathe
And listen.
The wisdom comes
in the silken roots of the mourning dove’s call. And on the breeze that brings
the soft notes to my ear—here
Right here in this
shimmering web-lined nest of morning.”
Isie Hanson (“Listen,”
June 14, 2021)
My friend
Isie wrote this beautiful poem sitting on her back deck, no doubt with a kitty
on her lap. She, like all the rest of us, is attempting to beat back the
anxiety that has built over the past two years of pandemic and political
strife. Natural ways work best for her—meditation, silence, nature. Her therapy
is found in the dirt, digging her way to serenity one flower at a time. I’m
fortunate to call her friend since she possesses all the refinement and
mid-western sweetness that I lack.
The
wind-down period of the pandemic presents an interesting liminal time during
which we realize what a tight fist we’ve been holding for who knows how long
and letting go is proving harder than it should. Perhaps now we are holding
tight to stave off the inevitable grief and disbelief that has gripped this
nation for several years. What happens now—absolutely no one can say, because
no one knows. Do we remember what “normal” looks like? Do we want to go back
there? I have not yet encountered a single person who answered “yes” to that
question. So, if not the old normal, what will be the new normal? It’s like
asking the abys and waiting for an answer in an echo.
Transitional
periods are difficult—that was then, this is now, and what do I want going
forward. Some of the wind is out of our sails, some of the ego-driven busyness
has run out of steam. A collective sigh and the eternal question, “What now?” Like
Isie, we will sit in the morning sunrise, and wait for the answers to arrive on
the song of a dove.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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